Sander handles Vanessa like the gentleman that he always is. He removes her hand from his arm like it's a piece of trash, then says, “No one would believe you. Everyone knows I'm way into her. How could I not be? Just look at her.” He holds his arms out for me to walk into. “Vanessa and I were just saying how gorgeous you look tonight, sweetheart."
I do look nice tonight. Kym, my mom's stylist and my sometimes live-in nanny, loves to help me pick out clothes, and I love the dress we chose for tonight. It’s a long, nude halter gown. The fitted bodice is encrusted with crystals that slowly float down the chiffon trumpet skirt. Matching nude Jimmy Choos and a messy curly bun finish off my look.
Sander slides his hand down my fully exposed back. Vanessa sneers at us, then staggers off as the finale fireworks start to shoot across the sky.
I think fireworks are so romantic. Maybe I need to try again.
I turn around and give Sander a deep kiss.
He kisses me back, but just when things start to heat up a little, he says, “Sweetheart, you know the rules.”
The rules.
His rules.
No making out in public.
I get it. I do. My mom has to be very careful of what she does in public. She’d die if someone took a photo of her picking her nose or pulling her underwear out of her butt. But Sander hasn’t been in the public eye for the last two years. No one is taking pictures of him anymore.
I turn back around and watch the fireworks light up the sky.
Is it wrong to want some fireworks of my own?
Early on in our relationship, he gave me some speech about his religious beliefs, which would be fine, except he’s not a religious guy. He never goes to church. So, I’m not sure I believe his I-want-to-wait-until-I’m-married excuse. While I appreciate that he respects me, lately I've just been feeling very frustrated.
Frustrated with him. Frustrated with my friends.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
I recently tried to seduce him. He came over to watch movies, and I came out in a sexy black nightie. He told me I looked pretty, but that I should get dressed while he made popcorn. I’ve worn sexy bikinis, skimpy tight outfits, and sinful dresses. Still nothing.
I know I’m nothing like my mom. Heck, half the boys I know have beat off to her pictures on more than one occasion.
So I tried the bolder route. Went straight for his pants and tried to unzip them. He got mad at me, gave me a big talking to about respecting each other’s boundaries, and left mad.
I want to break up with him, but I like our life. We’re the perfect couple that everyone wants to be, and I have everything I always thought I wanted.
I’m just not sure if I want it anymore.
My little laid-back surfer girl.
2am
The limo pulls up to my house. Prom was fun; not what I dreamed of, but better than I expected in one way: Sander didn’t get drunk. He’s been particularly high strung this week because he tried out for the part of Danny in the upcoming remake of Grease, and he really wants the role. I can’t imagine him not getting it. He has amazing dance skills, sings like an angel, and morphs into any role he wants to play.
He walks me to my front door, gives me a chaste kiss, and bids me goodnight.
And now I’m feeling a little high strung too.
I want to scream at him. Where are the fireworks? Where is the passion? You are the FUCKING PROM KING! It’s PROM NIGHT!! The night every red-blooded American male is expected to drink too much, take their date to a hotel, and have sex!!!
Instead, I watch the limo pull away.
I let myself into the house quietly, so I don’t wake up the family. I grab a Corona out of the fridge, madly kick off my heels, then walk out the back door and onto the beach.
I’m still wearing my gorgeous dress, but I don’t care about getting it wet and sandy. I never want to wear this stupid dress again.
In all the screenplays I’ve ever written, prom night is always the climax. That pivotal night when everything changes. The night I’m supposed to lose my virginity to my perfect boyfriend. The boy who’s been dying to have sex with me, but who says I’m worth the wait. The boy who would know prom night is the night.
In the limo, he’d wag the hotel key in front of my face and kiss me passionately. He’d tell me I’m beautiful and he can’t wait any longer. At the hotel, there would be rose petals, candles, and champagne. He’d kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful again. Then he wouldn’t wait any longer. He’d slide the straps of my dress off my shoulders and carry me to the bed, where he’d ravish my body.
I plop down into the sand and let out a big sigh.
Obviously, the casting director screwed up. Sander is not willing to do all that is required for his role.
I think it’s time to cut my losses and scrap the project. Start over.
Earlier this week, I mentioned to RiAnne that I was considering breaking up with him. She said, You’re the perfect couple. Why would you do that?